


Poisoned

by Louffox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Carlos Whump, Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Inhuman, Cecil to the rescue, Drug Trip, M/M, a bit cracky, done tagging now kthx, drugged smut hell yes, then some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is cataloging the plant life of Night Vale, sticking his nose where he shouldn't -again- and this time, gets bit. Or stabbed, either/or. Cecil now has a wreck of a scientist to babysit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alive, More or Less

**Author's Note:**

> This will only be two or three chapters. Smut will come last, so if you're just looking for a sweet whump fic, then you can still enjoy that.

Carlos wondered how the methanogen he’d gotten here. Well, he knew how he’d gotten here- the sequence of events was very clear in his head. He was just rather baffled that any of it had happened at all.

Goddamn Night Vale.

\--

\--

“Designation C6 distributes the most normal appearance out of all the cacti, as of yet. Dark green skin, maroon spines, rooted in the ground, right-side-up, nonsentient… I think,” he added uncertainly, dictating to a cassette recorder. “Um… hello? Do you understand me?” he asked it.

It did not reply, thankfully.

“C6 is tentatively designated nonsentient. About to make an incision at the side, right at the beginning of the curve of the crown, to see the color of the flesh and take a sample of internal fluids,” he continued. He pushed stop, and pocketed the recorder. He kneeled on the sandy ground beside the cactus, uncapping a sharpie with his teeth and labeling a set of test tubes. C6 skin. C6 flesh. C6 fluids. C6 root. C6 spine. He started with plucking a spine from it with a pair of tweezers, cutting it at the base with scissors, and dropped it in that tube, capping it and putting it in the case. He loaded his scalpel with a fresh, sanitary blade from a small box, and used it to cut the flesh of the cactus.

At the same time his scalpel breached the skin of the cactus, a spike breached the membrane of his glove and the skin of his hand beneath. As if it was a response.

“Shit,” he hissed, flinching and dropping the scalpel, grabbing his wrist and squeezing it, cringing at the pain. A small bubble of blood beaded at the edge of his palm, and he sighed, peeling off his gloves and digging, one-handed, through his case for a band-aid.

Rather rudely, the ground lurched sideways under him, making him tip over and fall on his side ungracefully.

“The hell?” he muttered, looking around. Was that an earthquake? That didn’t make sense- nobody in Night Vale actually felt the motion of the seismic activity. Why was he suddenly able to-

The ground jolted again, in the other direction, and he caught himself this time.

He… he felt strange. Something was… something was wrong. It… he felt…

The ground jumped again, this time up at him, and he fell prone to the sand.

\--

\--

When he woke, it was with the sweet, rank, fetid taste of rotten fruit on his tongue and lips so chapped they cracked when he opened his mouth to moisten them. He pushed himself to a technically upright, sitting position, and it was so necessary to keep both hands on the ground to stabilize himself that he couldn’t even spare one to wipe the sand from his cheek. The ground felt… it was like he was sitting on a second hand of a clock, and the world was rotating beneath him it little ticking motions. His veins itched, and when he tried to swallow, he gagged reflexively.

He crouched there, on all fours like an animal, and closed his eyes for a tired moment, forcing his brain to work, dammit. He was… he…

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He was in Night Vale. Just outside of town. He was… cataloguing plant life. Cacti. And… he was about to… to… biopsy. He was taking samples. It looked normal, and- and then, he…

He looked down at his hand. He’d stabbed himself on a spine. Idiot. And then the ground started moving. Poison, or toxin, or something bad. He’d felt like this once before- when he’d smoked weed (that was no accident) that was laced with something (that was an accident) and had a really bad trip. This was like that, but worse. So much worse.

He needed help.

He managed to crawl unsteadily over to his case of tools- this would be so much easier if the ground would hold the hell still for just a minute!- and half sat, half laid beside it, and began digging through it for his phone. He could call someone. When he found it, it took him three tries to get his passcode right, and then he stared blankly at the screen. Why did he need his phone?

He opened his snapchat application. No new messages. What was he doing? He didn’t have any new snaps. Maybe he…

Wikipedia. He tried to open that, and when the resulting frowning koala appeared, bearing the message Such uncensored information is banned by the Night Vale Secret Police. If you have any questions or quest for information, say SOMETHING.

“What the hell. Assholes,” he muttered, and coughed. His throat was dry. He should get a drink. Maybe some lunch. Cecil, he always had lunch with Cecil on, on- what days? Mondays and Tuesdays and Fridays. What day was it?

He wanted to call Cecil. He felt strange and it was starting to scare him. He was scared. Scared. Scared.

There was a phone in his hand and it was ringing, so he held it up to his ear and waited.

“Hello?” the voice that answered was vanilla ice cream and soft caramel and red velvet soft sweet smooth sonorous alto.

“Cecil?” he replied. “What’s up?”

“Just translating today’s sponsor’s message. The semaphore flags are getting really annoying- why can’t Starbucks just use sanskrit like everyone else?” Cecil replied, and though his words spoke of irritation, his voice was cheerful and friendly as ever. “What are you up to?”

“I’m, uh…” What was he up to? He… he was hot. Thirsty. “I’m just…” he looked down at the sand. “Science. I’m busy, Cecil, what did you call for?”

“Me? I didn’t call you, you called me,” Cecil answered, sounding bemused.

“Oh.” How had he forgotten? He called Cecil. “Hello.”

There was a long pause. “Hello,” Cecil said uncertainly.

“Lunch!” Carlos remembered, letting out a short laugh. The ground jumped beneath him, and he grabbed at it, swearing. Everything was strange looking. Like it was all so close to his face, he could see every detail and particulate. But it was all so far, he could never reach it, and it was moving away still, running farther and farther apart. Expansion. Hubble’s law.

“Carlos, are you okay?” Cecil asked carefully.

“Lunch, are we getting lunch today?”

“You… yes, we’re getting lunch.”

“Then it must be… it must- it’s… Monday?” Carlos guessed.

“Um, no, it’s... it’s Thursday.” Mr. vanilla on his phone started to sound worried. “Carlos, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m- fuck, would you stop it? Jesus… Cecil? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. The ground just is being an asshole. Won’t stop moving.” He glared at the ground. “Some of us are trying to do science here!” he shouted at it.

“Carlos, where are you?” There was the sound of rustling on the line, like fabric. He could hear the fabric, it was 25% cotton, 75% polyester, and jeans, and one pale green sock and one black and white striped with yellow polka dots sock sliding into a pair of black loafers and keys ringing taken off a hook.

“Uh… I’m right here,” he said, rolling his eyes. Duh.

“You’re…? Okay, can you do me a favor? Can you look around and tell me what you see around you for landmarks?” An engine started. It had a spark plug that was 7 months old and the tank was three quarters full and and the tire pressures, from the front left going clockwise, were 32, 34, 35, and 29. Carlos could hear it all. The sounds told him.

Look around, the vanilla voice said, so he did. “Everything is pale. Where did the color go? It’s like… desaturated. Landmarks, though, right, right… My car. There’s… sand. A cactus.” His hand throbbed- it felt swollen. He whimpered. “My hand hurts.”

“Alright, I’m going to hang up and call the Secret Police, they’ll give me directions to you. I want you to answer your phone when I call back and stay on the line with me. Okay? Can you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said impatiently. “Kay. Bye.” He dropped his phone on the sand, and the ground below him breathed in and out. The sand was soft. The sand was gritty. The sand was so infinite, it was more grains than anyone could count. He wondered what was more infinite- pi or e or the grains of sand. He laid down on the sand, spreading his arms out, trying to touch as many grains as he could.

There was a buzzing thing on the ground beside him, making strange noise. He swatted it away from him impatiently. He needed to listen to the sand.


	2. Dying Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Have some updates!

When Cecil saw Carlos’s car, he felt a combination of fear and relief- the latter because he’d found him, and the former because he wasn’t sure what he was going to find. On the phone, right from the get-go, he’d realized something was very wrong with Carlos. And then he’d had to disconnect the line to call his contact with the Secret Police, and when he’d called back, there had been no answer. He sped freely through town, and the few police he saw were stopping pedestrians and waving him through stop signs, having heard that Perfect Carlos the Scientist was in trouble.

He threw it in park and was out the door without even turning his car off, looking for Carlos. There, over there- something on the ground. A case, with a few tools scattered around it. A cactus. And Carlos.

Beautiful, perfect Carlos, his skin clammy and damp with sweat, his perfect hair flattened on one side and full of sand, his lab coat dusty… his body, prone…

“Carlos,” Cecil wailed, unable to hold back the cry. he charged over and skidded beside him on his knees, rolling him onto his side, touching his face and his hair compulsively. “Carlos, Carlos, my perfect Carlos,” he whimpered, straightening the glasses on his boyfriend’s face with shaking hands. His tattoos were flooding to his hands, as if trying to reach out as well, and all three eyes became blurry with tears.

“Mmmm. Cece,” Carlos murmured, half indecipherable. Cecil gasped- he was alive, he was conscious.

“Carlos? Oh, masters of us all… what happened?” Cecil said, trying to help him up.

“I don’t know,” he slurred, eyes at half mast. “I just was doing some research and the red thorn got me, and the earth is alive, it’s moving, and the sand…” His voice got softer and softer until his lips were moving, but no sound was coming out.

Red thorn? Cecil saw the cactus, recognized its unusual green color, its lack of smell and sentience, its roots in the ground. My hand hurts. Oh, realms above. The cactus.

“Carlos, you neglected chain maille gloves, you’ve been poisoned,” Cecil sighed. Carlos seemed to struggle for a moment, and between the two of him, he got to his feet, leaning mostly on Cecil.

“Poison?” he repeated, looking confused.

“It’s fine, it won’t hurt you, it’s just… the effects are strange. It will take a while for it to wear off, I think the real danger right now is dehydration- angels know how long you’ve been out here. We’re leaving your things here, I’ll call someone to come pick it up, right now you’re coming back to my apartment. I need to keep an eye on you until this wears off,” Cecil said firmly, steering him to his still-running car and maneuvering him into the passengers seat. He lovingly buckled him in and shut the door, then jogged around to get in the driver’s side.

The ride was quiet- Cecil kept one eye on Carlos (his third one), while Carlos stared out the window with wide eyes.

Getting Carlos out of the car and into his apartment wasn’t that bad. Out of the hot sun, Carlos was regaining his strength. The poison didn’t weaken a person that much, it just played hell with their brains. As Cecil carefully deposited the now weakly chuckling scientist on his bed, he felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. Had their places been reversed- Cecil a babbling mess on a psychedelic trip and Carlos rescuing him- he’d do a much better job than just bringing him home and putting him in bed. Carlos was such a brilliant scientist, and he’d saved the town so many times. Cecil was sure that he could cook up some sort of cure, was he in his right mind.

“You need to drink this. You’re dehydrated,” Cecil said, sitting beside him and passing him a tall glass of water with ice that he found sitting on the bedside table. (He reminded himself to thank the Faceless Old Woman later.) Carlos tried to drink fast, greedily, but almost choked. Cecil rubbed his back and encouraged him to slow down, and it went more smoothly.

“Thanks, love,” Carlos sighed, leaning back against the headboard. Cecil went to stand, but Carlos caught his elbow. “No! Please, don’t go!” he whispered conspiratorially, shaking his head hard.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right back. I was going to get a cloth to try to get some of the sand off you,” Cecil whispered back.

“Oh. I guess… I guess that’s okay. Just promise you’ll come back?”

“Of course.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead and winced at the heat and the salt. Yes, he needed to get some of that sand off.

When he came back, cool cloth in hand and the water refilled, he was stopped by a loud, “Wait!”

“What?” he asked, worried.

“Careful. I had to set up a barricade. The air is full of eels.” He gestured to a line of things at the foot of the bed- a stuffed animal kitten from Dana, Cecil’s beside candelabra, two smelly socks, one of Cecil’s slippers, and a few dreamcatchers. “They’ll let you through because your skin is current-free.”

“Well, I think I can protect you from the eels now. Why don’t we put these back?” Cecil said, crossing the room to sit on the bed beside him.

“Yeah, okay.” Carlos picked up the slipper and hugged it to his chest, leaving Cecil to return the rest of the stuff- socks in the laundry basket, kitten and candelabra on the bedside table, the dreamcatchers back on the headboard with the rest of the collection. He had eighty-two, last time he counted, all hung and layered over each other, completely covering the headboard.

“Sit back,” he said, and Carlos lay down on his back, grinning up at him.

“Did you know it only takes point-zero-zero-zero-one amperes through the heart to kill a human?”

“Really?” Cecil replied with lazy surprise, mopping Carlos’s face gently. “That can’t be right. I channel at least two amps a day, depending on what the weather is.”

“Well, I was talking about the human heart.”

“I’m human.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and reached up to tap the skin right beside Cecil’s third eye. “Sort of.” He sat up suddenly, pushing Cecil’s hand away. “Does this make us bestiality?” he asked fearfully.

“Of course not, I’m no beast. I’m human. Or… pseudo-humanoid, at least,” Cecil soothed, pushing him back down.

“Okay good.”

There was a peaceful silence for a few minutes as Cecil worked on him. He found a comb and carefully combed the sand out of Carlos’s dark curls as carefully as he could, enjoying the opportunity to worship his hair and fussing with the sandy mess. He washed his hands and arms, as well, and his feet.

When he was just finishing up his elbow, the scientist abruptly grabbed his wrist. His eyes were huge.

“Cecil, I’ve been poisoned, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Carlos. It’ll be over soon, though.”

Another five minutes, and he grabbed at him again.

“Thank God you’re here, Cecil. Something’s wrong with me.”

“You got poisoned by a cactus. You’ll be fine in a while, I promise,” Cecil replied patiently.

Once more, the cycle repeated after a few minutes.

“Cecil, I’m… something’s… I don’t feel right.”

“That’s the poison from the cactus, Carlos.”

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” he cried, pulling Cecil closer with his grip on his wrist. Cecil calmly peeled his hand off- Carlos was strong, but Cecil was the Voice.

“No, you’re going to be fine.”

“I am going to die, I know it,” he groaned. “I didn’t even get to explore Kitum Cave.” Cecil wasn’t sure what Kitum Cave was, but he patted his brow soothingly anyways.

“You aren’t going to die, my Carlos. It’s a temporary toxin.”

Carlos sat up, grabbed his collar, and pulled him in for a rough kiss. It was messy and Carlos’s skin was too hot and Cecil could taste blood from his cracked lip, and their teeth clicked, and Cecil angled his head instinctively, falling into the kiss.

No, bad Cecil- come back. His hand on his chest (how had that got there?) pushed him away, breaking the kiss.

“Carlos, you’re ill, what are you doing?” Cecil panted slightly, eyes flickering back down to the scientist’s lips (red and slightly swollen, currently pushed out in a pout) for a moment.

“I’m going to die.”

“No you’re not,” Cecil said firmly.

“I’m going to die. And this is what I want before I die.”

“You aren’t- mmph-,” the radio host was cut off as he kissed him again, just as rough as the first.

“I’m dying. I want you one last time before I die,” he said between kisses.


	3. Perfect, Beautiful Carlos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell, may as well go ahead and post it. I edited and re-edited and wrote and rewrote this chapter so many freaking times that I just need to be done with it. Ugh. I swear, I did good smut once, I don't know why I can't write it well anymore. Hmph, whatever. I suppose being a girl, and a virgin, and a lesbian kind of hinders my ability to write guy on guy action. Oh well. Enjoy, I suppose.

Cecil moved to push him away again, and then thought about it. It wasn’t like it was the first (or second or third or even tenth) time they’d had sex. So it wasn’t taking advantage of him. And Carlos seemed upset, and if this is what it took to soothe him… he wasn’t going to look a gift toad in the nose.

The hands on his shoulders, ready to push him away, instead curled around and pulled him closer, and he moved to straddle his lap, scooting forward until there was nowhere to scoot forward to anymore. He licked the roof of his mouth, and the ridges of his palate tasted like iron and sand and the tiniest bit like something sickly sweet, like rotten fruit. It wasn’t enough to put the radio host off- if anything, it made him more concerned, and concern bled into worry and worry bled into care and care bled into passion and want and love.

Carlos groaned, catching Cecil’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it. Cecil gasped and pulled free. He smirked, then gave him a nip of his own- on the underside of his jaw. He sucked a spot of skin into his mouth and worried it gently, then licked over it forcefully to sooth.

He added the noise Carlos made to his ever growing library, and licked a stripe down Carlos’s neck. Despite the pseudo sponge bath, he could taste traces of salt.

He was arching his back to curl down and reach his neck with his mouth, a strange and unnatural position. That was soon remedied when Carlos lay down and Cecil could kneel over him, knees on either side of his hips, hands on either side of his shoulders, arching his back and provocatively holding his ass high instinctively. He went right to work on the buttons of Carlos’s shirt, and as soon as it was unbuttoned, he dove to nose at the line of dark hair, leading from his navel into the waistband of his pants. A swirl of tongue in his navel, a caress of hands on his ribs.

Now he tasted like salt not from the sand, but from the thin layer of perspiration forming on his skin. Cecil delicately moved lower, mouthing over the trail of hair, until he got to the button of his pants. He looked up and made eye contact as he undid it with his teeth and then pulled down the zipper.

Suddenly he was hauled up and rolled, so he was lying on his back and Carlos was over him. The scientist took advantage of his disorientation by laving at his earlobe, nuzzling with his nose and nibbling at the tip of his ear. Cecil couldn’t hold back a moan and his back arched slightly of it’s own accord. His ears were a huge pleasure point for him, something non-drugged-Carlos had always found delightful and a bit strange.

His breathing went ragged as Carlos quickly exhumed him from his shirt, trousers following close behind, and his mouth touched each bit of skin as it was revealed. Carlos seemed to be everywhere at once, such was the fervor of his attack. Like a man who thought he was dying.

When his tongue, rough and hot and wet, painted a stripe from his collarbone to his jawline, he shuddered and reached for Carlos’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons.

“Please. It’s my last time. Don’t hold back,” Carlos breathed into the shell of his ear, nose tracing his sideburn.

Cecil ripped his shirt.

Buttons went flying, but it was open and he was shucking it off like he actually was dying, and moved right on to his pants without pause. He did not rip those, fortunately, (probably only because they were already undone,) and shoved them down. He grasped the hem of them with his toes and pulled them the rest of the way off while Carlos worked on his own trousers, shoving them down. His breath hitched when the scientist’s fumbling fingers brushed his erection as he pushed them down. He was already hard, and so was Carlos- they had the frantic need of their first time, but enough experience to know exactly where to manipulate the other’s body.

For example, Cecil had absurdly sensitive nipples, something Carlos at that moment ducked to take advantage of.

“Oh!” Cecil gasped, his smooth baritone half an octave higher and thin as a scream. His fingers knotted punishingly in the hair at the base of his skull, but Carlos only spent a few moments there before kissing down between his ribs, stopping at his hips to nibble at each hipbone. He could only lie back and tremble under his ministrations, violet eyes wide. Carlos almost never took charge like this.

With no other preamble, he took Cecil in his mouth. Deep.

Cecil wailed like a being possessed, hips thrusting once instinctively, but Carlos took it with no hesitation. Cecil’s world seemed to shrink to that hot, wet mouth, cheeks hollowed and tight around him, tongue swirling around slowly and luxuriously. The tip of his tongue probed the slit at the tip and Cecil nearly bucked again, the hand that wasn’t in Carlos’s hair fisting the sheets and gripping it like it was the only thing holding him on the earth.

Carlos pulled off and the radio host shuddered at the loss, but quickly resumed the pleasure, licking slowly up the sides of his proud erection, trailing his lips over, even brushing it with his teeth for a tantalizing moment. Cecil’s eyes had closed at some point, he didn’t even know when. He became aware of moaning that wasn’t his own and managed to force his eyes open again.

What he saw almost sent him over the edge like a teenager, right there, right then.

Carlos was crouching over him, his mouth worshipping his cock, on one elbow and his knees. His other elbow was up in the air, and his forearm was down, and his hand was… he was…

“Carlos,” Cecil gasped, watching his scientist open himself up with the other hand, his mouth full of Cecil and his ass full of his own fingers. “Carlos, dear void.” He didn’t know what exactly he was begging for- to be sucked off, to be fingered himself, to be buried in his ass in place of those filthy, clever fingers. Something. Anything.

“I love you,” Carlos replied breathlessly, wrapping just his lips around the head of Cecil’s cock. It was so soft and hot. “I need you.”

“You have me. I’m right here,” Cecil gasped back as Carlos took him deep once more, for just a second to coat him with saliva. Then he was shuffling up, straddling him, lining himself up with the hand he’d just had in his ass, fingers slick with lube (he hadn’t even heard him open the bottle that he always had on the nightstand) and then-

“ _OhperfectbeautifulCarlos_ ,” Cecil ground out through clenched teeth, throwing his head back into the pillows as Carlos plunged down around him, burying him to the hilt without any reservations. Carlos groaned long and loud, planting both palms on Cecil’s chest. He was so tight that Cecil was almost worried he’d hurt him, but Carlos was wasting no time, already moving, a slow, inexorable grind.

“I love you. I love you,” Carlos panted with every thrust stronger than before, a swelling and receding motion, as constant and growing as the tide. Cecil felt a bursting warmth within his chest that had nothing to do with the building pleasure, almost hotter than Carlos’s heat that he was buried in, at the whole situation. Carlos thought he was dying, and he wanted to spend his last moments making love to Cecil and telling him he loved him. It was romantic and sexy and perfect.

“Oh Carlos. I love you too. I will always love you. So much,” Cecil moaned.

The caramel-skinned scientist was speeding up, almost bouncing now, harder, and Cecil was trying to subtly adjust the angle, tilting his hips to give Carlos what he needed, searching- he knew where it was, it was right-

“ _CECIL_!!!”

-there.

The slow undulating motion was gone, replaced by a frantic thrusting. Cecil knew he was getting close, Carlos was leaning down, his hands on Cecil’s shoulders now, bent over him and almost pressing their chests together, tucking his face in beside Cecil’s breathing heavily. Cecil mouthed at his ear, wrapping one hand in his hair and putting the other on his lower back, thrusting shallowly on that one spot, pressing them together. They were both open-mouthed and sweating and gasping. Cecil felt coiled tight, a spring, slipping, right there, it was so close-

He moved his hand from his back to his front, grasping his dark erection and pumping it. It only took four tugs, and Carlos was shouting his name, hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise, blunt nails digging into his shoulders desperately as he came in hot spurts and tight clenches.

Cecil followed him almost immediately over, that coil inside exploding, his world flashing with heat and light and color as he filled Carlos with his spunk, mouth open in a soundless cry.

Carlos tumbled to his side, pulling off his oversensitive, spent member. Despite his oversensitivity, Cecil still missed it, and made up for it by wrapping his limbs around Carlos as tightly as he could.

“Oh Carlos. I love you so much. I… I don’t even have words,” he breathed, he murmured, petting his hair soothingly as he came down.

“Mmmm… the voice without words,” Carlos snickered lightly. Cecil’s lips curled into a content smile and he gave him a little squeeze.

They dozed off, wrapped up in each other, careless of the sweat and sticky mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be ONE chapter left, to tie up the ends. Fluff, mayhaps? To balance this mess?


	4. Holding On to You

When Carlos woke, it was with a sharp, unwelcome clarity of mind. He remembered everything that had happened- his foolish behavior, his childish belief, his embarrassingly needy actions.

Carlos wondered how the _methanogen_ he’d gotten here. Well, he knew how he’d gotten here- the sequence of events was very clear in his head. He was just rather baffled that any of it had happened at all.

Goddamn Night Vale.

His shock and embarrassment over the events of yesterday were so great that it rolled through his limbs like fire, forcing him to move. He failed, trying to get out of Cecil's loose embrace and the sheets tighter grasp, managing to escape the bed, but gracelessly.

"Mmm... Carlos?" Cecil mumbled sleepily, pushing himself halfway up and blinking with confusion and worry.

Carlos couldn't respond- he couldn't get air, his throat was a pinhole and the air was too thin. His skin felt cold but his head and chest felt burning hot, and he could hardly hear over his palpitating heart. He stumbled backwards- _fuck_ , he was naked and a mess- and managed to get through the door into the bathroom and slammed the door, falling against it. His fingers weren't responding correctly, he fumbled with the lock for a long second before turning it. Dimly, he acknowledged that he was experiencing a panic attack.

He slumped over the sink, sucking in air like he was dying (he felt like he was) and deep down, he knew he should stand up straight and put his arms over his head to open his ribs and allow for better air flow, but he could only cling to the sink like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

The door crashed loudly with the force of Cecil hammering on it, making Carlos jump. His chest felt constricted, like his breast plate was made of steel and barbed wire. There was an actual weight pressing on his chest, it seemed.

“Carlos!” Cecil’s voice, high and panicked, sounded like it was coming to him through water. “Carlos, it’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Cecil. Your boyfriend. Let me- just, please unlock the door.”

Carlos couldn’t reply, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air so he just shook his head soundlessly, not really comprehending that Cecil couldn’t see him. Outside the door, he heard mild cursing and a crashing, and then a scraping at the door. And then the door was open.

He stepped back and his back connected painfully with the towel rack, his hands up to protect himself.

“Carlos. _Carlos_. It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just me. Do you know who I am?” he said slowly, in his most soothing sonorous voice, his hands up with palms showing in the universal not-here-to-hurt-you gesture.

His heart started to calm down, and he realized his cheeks were wet and hot with tears. He nodded slowly, lowering his arms and sitting down abruptly on the floor. His brain seemed to be functioning again, slowly rebooting.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything is fine,” Cecil continued, his voice helping Carlos find his center again. He slowly sat beside him. (Carlos was again aware of his state of undress, while Cecil had thrown a robe around himself.) Like he was reaching for a feral tiger, with the same caution and gentleness, he extended a hand and began stroking his hair. It was a calmind, normal gesture, and Carlos let himself fall over slightly to rest his head on his shoulder. “There, there,” Cecil whispered, letting him finish crying and slowly hiccup himself back to normal.

“I’m sorry. I’m… I was unsettled. I think it was the lingering effects of the cactus toxin,” Carlos said in a rough voice, pulling his knees up to cover himself self-consciously.

“Oh! So you aren’t feeling its effects anymore? When you woke in a panic, I feared you were in some horrible hallucination. I was concerned you were going to hurt yourself, so I employed the necessary lockpicking skills that all radio hosts are required to have. I’m sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine, I should be sorry for turning into a marshmallow like that,” Carlos sighed.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Mmm. Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Carlos shivered.

“I’d like to shower, if you don’t mind. I still feel gritty from the sand, and I think it would help me feel more… human,” Carlos said.

“Sure! Of course! You already know where the towels are, and feel free to borrow some of my clothes. I’ll- er- I’m quite hungry, and I would bet you are, too. I’ll go cook something. And put some clothes on,” Cecil said amiably, standing and offering Carlos a hand to pull him to his feet as well. He stared hard in his eyes for a second, before brushing the back of his knuckles against Carlos’s jaw in the most delicate of touches, and then leaned in and his lips brushed Carlos’s, as light as a butterfly, before he left the room with a smile.

Carlos stood under the water with it as hot as he could stand (and then some) for a long time, letting the shakes and tears leave his body.

He emerged with a fresh feeling and a cloud of kiwi scented steam, wrapped in a towel. He hummed to himself as he picked through Cecil’s closet, a half smile upturning the corner of his mouth as he passed over the strange clothes. A shower had helped, and with the last of the toxin gone from his system, he felt reborn, and glad to be back to himself.

Cecil was more slender than he was, which limited his choices, and he was definitely not wearing anything with sequins or fur, so his only option, really, was a pair of cargo shorts (they were emerald green) and a simple white tunic with only a little gold stitching around the neck. Cecil was only slightly taller than him, so the shorts barely went to his knees, but the tunic luckily was only about the length of a normal shirt. He thought it wasn’t too bad- it was hard to tell, as all the mirrors were covered and Carlos didn’t dare uncover them. He patted his hair with a grimace, trying to tell how much of a fluffy mess it was by feel. It was always a wreck if he didn’t put at least a little product in it to smooth it out.

He found Cecil in the kitchen, somehow looking remarkably fresh and clean for someone who’d charged out into the desert to rescue his toxin-addled boyfriend, then at his request, had been fucked nearly senseless. He was dressed, too, in a pair of slacks that appeared to have the galaxy patterned across them, and a pale yellow tank top with black stripes on one strap.

Carlos suddenly felt bashful. “Hi,” he said quietly after seating himself at the kitchen counter.

“Hi,” Cecil replied, grinning widely. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Carlos said with a weak laugh. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Ha! If I recall, you took care of _both_ of us for a big part,” he said lewdly, winking.

“God, that’s… so _embarrassing_. I’m so sorry,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“What? Why are you sorry? That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. You thought you were dying and all you wanted was me. How could I not be flattered and absolutely not-sorry?” Cecil said with a wink. He grabbed his hand and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”

“I still feel guilty,” Carlos muttered.

“Stop feeling guilty. Start feeling hungry instead,” Cecil suggested, gesturing at the skillet he’d plugged in. “I’m making eggs and bacon. I just happen to have chicken eggs this time, too- I know you prefer those over snake or condor eggs.”

“I love you,” Carlos sighed, finally cracking a smile, and Cecil rubbed his back vigorously.

“See? Everything is fine. Now sit down, and let me finish taking care of you.”

Instead, Carlos stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “I just really- I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Die of dehydration or be devoured by the definitely-just-plastic-bags-in-the-wind feral dogs,” Cecil said helpfully. “But I won’t let any of those things happen to you. I promise.”

“I’m not letting go of you,” Carlos said bluntly, voice muffled from pressing his face into Cecil’s shoulder.

“I have no complaints,” Cecil said happily. “But, um, the eggs are going to burn.”

“Not. Letting. Go.”

“Well, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> So.... I like comments... thoughts? ideas? (unfulfilled?)


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